


One Last Chance

by spatial_inaugural



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: M/M, guzma angery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatial_inaugural/pseuds/spatial_inaugural
Summary: Guzma is a total outcast, along with his associates of Team Skull. However, Alola's Kahunas are choosing to give him a chance to redeem himself. Will he accept the offer or throw it away?





	One Last Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I will be editing the chapters as I go along to create cohesiveness. If you have any suggestions for this fic, please do not hesitate to send me a DM on Twitter (@EiriJBrown)!

The hollering downstairs was completely unbearable - it made the mob boss clench his fists so tightly that his hands could turn blue. 

The grunts were celebrating some dumb prank they did on a farmer apparently, and they showed no sign of stopping their sugar high. Guzma was awake the whole night, listening to sea shanties as if they were pirates and his eyes were bloodshot. 

He flew his hands up to his head, leaning into his tattered throne. 

“Swear to Tapu, if I hear one more spurt of noise from those grunts,” Guzma muttered to himself in an irritated sigh, “I’m havin’ Golisopod rip ‘em to shreds.”

“Chill,” Plumeria retorted, “they’re dumb with no punks to bash - what do you expect ‘em to do?”

“Bash themselves? Or how about dis, shut their trap and fall asleep?” 

The accomplice rolled her eyes and jumped onto the bed, with a heavy creak. Then suddenly, there was silence from everywhere in the mansion. For a moment it seemed that all the grunts in a 20 metre radius were waiting for something to happen. 

The security grunt, apparently to be curious and looked outside the door, while the gangster cautiously pulled out a Great Ball from his pocket. 

The grunt entered back into the room with eyes like he saw a hallucination, speaking gibberish. 

“What?” blurted Guzma. 

“Spit it out!”

“I-it’s... It's **I-Il-Ilima**.”

Guzma transitioned from a state of alert to turned to state of shock, hearing gentle footsteps come up the stairway. That was a name that he hadn’t heard in nearly eight years.


End file.
